


Interwoven

by Mansaeboysbe



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mansaeboysbe/pseuds/Mansaeboysbe
Summary: Their lives were interwoven like a quilt. A pastiche of events and conversation that worked together to form their bond. The edges were frayed and there was a couple smudges of dirt but no matter how many times you looked at it, you would always be envious of it’s beauty.





	Interwoven

**Author's Note:**

> -Admin Mari

Their lives were interwoven like a quilt. A pastiche of events and conversation that worked together to form their bond. The edges were frayed and there were a couple smudges of dirt, but no matter how many times you looked at it, you would always be envious of its beauty.

Maybe that was why everyone was so confused when everything between Ten and (Y/n) began to unravel into nothing more than bare thread. For a while, people just assumed they would rebuild their relationship, crochet it back into the beauty it once was.

Everything in their home was quiet after it happened. Another normal day that had just happened to put a strain on their marriage. It ended in more bills, more stress, more tears.

And after that, well, they grew quiet, too.

They both sat in their living room, a silence hung in the air like low smoke in a bar. They were both staring at the television as if it had the most interesting news to show, but it wasn’t even on. The remote sat untouched on the coffee table between them. They wouldn’t even sit together anymore.

Neither had done much of anything this week, as they hadn’t for the last couple months and (Y/n) contemplated just walking somewhere, anywhere, to get out of the house. However, she knew that she would have to tell him if she left, even if he was generally unresponsive, and she didn’t feel like starting a conversation she knew they wouldn’t actually have.

As of late, he would mostly stare off into space, oblivious to the world around him. Sometimes he would stay in the bedroom and other times he would sit on the couch and look out the window, but only if the neighborhood kids weren’t playing outside.

He always had a quilt between his fingers, one she had hand sewn herself a couple years back. On occasion, he would throw it across his legs but usually, he had it pooled beside him as he rubbed at the edges, never really paying attention to anything else. It had started right after it happened and at first he left it in the bedroom, but now it never left his side, a comfort from the emotions he was sure to be feeling.

Even now he had it as he stared at the television blankly.

(Y/n) swallowed hard as she looked at him from across the room, so close and yet miles apart. Separated by their thoughts and actions.

The sun soon set and she got up slowly, walked over to him, and placed a hand on his cheek gently to wake him from his stupor.

“I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay?” He looked up at her and nodded slightly if anything he was simply acknowledging her presence.

She ended up going to bed alone, which she had been doing a lot as of late. But she didn’t mind, there was a different kind of silence, one where she could think for herself, one where she often found herself crying over their situation.

In the dark, she wrapped herself up in a blanket cocoon and waited for sleep to overtake her so that she could escape reality for just a little while.

When she awoke a couple hours later, the comforter beside her hadn’t been disturbed in the slightest. (Y/n) got up and walked the length of the house, only to find that the lights were off and Ten was nowhere in sight. If she hadn’t felt so drained of tears, she probably would have started to cry.

Her feet paused on their own accord in front of the shut bedroom door at the end of the hall. She was hesitant as she placed her hand on the doorknob. For a moment she thought about the last time she had set foot in the room. It had been before it had happened, that was certain.

Ten, however, spent an increasing amount of time in there.

With a deep breath, she opened the door.

Nothing had changed. There were still toys scattered on the ground and a few clothes spilling out of the closet. The long, green drapes were pushed apart to allow moonlight to illuminate the room. The only thing that was different was the fact that Ten was sitting on the small race car bed instead of a child.

He had the blanket sprawled across his lap and his head was bent down as silent sobs racked his body. His knuckles were white against the fabric and his eyes were screwed shut.

(Y/n) gently shut the door behind her before taking shaky steps over to him. She didn’t sit on the bed, didn’t think she had it within her to do it, and instead sat on the floor, reaching up to place a hand on his knee.

They didn’t say anything for a while. After a couple minutes, Ten reached forward and grasped onto her hand with all the desperation of a man who was drowning.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked from lack of use and his words tumbled out soon after. It was the first time in a long time that they had really spoken to each other.

There was so much she wanted to say to him but she didn’t know how. There was already so much tension between them that it was too hard to read him anymore and she couldn’t tell if it was best to talk to him or just offer him solace in silence.

She settled on squeezing his hand and whispering, “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and she was almost sure he wouldn’t, but he managed to quell his sobs long enough to speak again.

“It is, though.” He sniffled and wiped at his eyes, “If I had just-”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done to prevent it,” she stated firmly.

He hiccuped and slid down off the bed. She pulled him close and ran her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner, but he just sat there, like stone, as if he was unaffected by her touch. There was something in his posture that told her that even though he wasn’t protesting, he was blaming himself in an endless cycle of guilt and self-resentment that he was refusing to be saved from.

And even as she spoke now, telling him that it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t really listening.

There was a crash of thunder that shook the house and she felt Ten jump and clutch onto the blanket even tighter than before. A whole new wave of tears fell from his eyes and she found herself at a loss once more.

Survivor’s guilt.

That’s what their therapist had told her he had.

And now with each rumble of thunder no doubt taking him back to the events of all those months ago, she had no idea how to him when he was refusing to let her in at all. So, she sat beside him, pulled him close and rocked him back and forth as she repeated her mantra of “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

Then, in a moment, it changed and she was clutching onto him, looking for any sign of comfort he could give. She had been the strong one for him all this time and now she wanted nothing more than for him to hold her and promise everything would go back to how it was before.

She waited and, when no reassurance came, she felt her heart shatter, a wave of not-quite-real physical pain reverberating through her body and she was thrown back to the day all those months ago.

Most of it was a blur of police car sirens, the downpour of rain and the destroyed frame of their first car. She had been on her way home from work, happily talking to Ten over the phone, which he had on speaker so their six-year-old son could contribute to the conversation, as he drove them home.

The dull rumble of thunder sounded in the background and she was lured into a false sense of security from the lullaby of the rain.

“Alright, baby, I’ll see you when I get back. Ten,” she spoke more sternly, “stop giving him candy every time you get in the car. He’s going to get sick.”

Ten laughed. “I know, I-shit-”

The sound of tires squealing came through the speaker and then the sound of metal crunching with glass splintering following soon after.

“Ten? Ten!?”

She pulled to the side, already fearing the worst. When he still didn’t respond, she tracked his phone to only a couple blocks away. Immediately she headed that way. She pulled up to the scene of the wreck just as the police were arriving and the EMTs were helping Ten out of the flipped car. If she could even call it that anymore.

All the windows were in broken fragments, sprawled out across the street. The driver’s side was fine, and as she stepped out of her own car to get to Ten, she saw the passenger’s side.

She gasped and her lungs felt like they were on fire, but she pushed past the crowd, and right past the barricade and ran straight to Ten who immediately wrapped her up and squeezed her tight.

Some of the responders were looking at the other car and then Ten grabbed one that was rushing past.

“My son, please, he’s- he’s still in the car.” The woman gave him a concerned look and called a couple men over, immediately trying to pry the doors open.

(Y/n) didn’t even remember anything after that except for when they began to pull the body out and she had buried her face in Ten’s shirt, not daring to look, even when she knew he couldn’t look away. But she distinctly remembered how he pulled away and only returned when he had the blanket clutched in his hands.

From there they unraveled bit by bit through constant grief and a lack of communication. Through the months their once beautiful connection was stained and destroyed as time wore them down.

But what hurt them both the most, was the simple fact that even if they went separate ways and tried to start anew, they would always be connected by the strings of their child’s blanket.


End file.
